


Selfish

by toocoldforyouhere



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Death, Depression, M/M, Mentions of Smut, Pills, Sadness, Suicide, double death, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toocoldforyouhere/pseuds/toocoldforyouhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>his cheeks were colorless<br/>	his skin, still will such perfect designs, was almost gray<br/>	his curls were splayed across a pillow<br/>	his nose wasn't twitching like it would when he was asleep<br/>	his eyes had been shut<br/>	he was still<br/>	so fucking still<br/>	and quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selfish

Louis didn't feel right anymore. His boy, his sweet boy, had taken his own life, and Louis just . . .  
(didn't feel right without him).  
And it hurt. Harry was only 19 years old. He stole himself from the world, he stole himself from Louis.   
Louis tried,  
he really fucking tried,  
to smile, laugh, live, enjoy life, be happy  
but . . .  
his boy wasn't there, so . . .  
(he couldn't).

One day,  
(once upon a time)  
Louis visited Harry's grave. The tombstone was pretty (but not as pretty as his boy; nothing could beat his beauty), a lovely gray dotted with black. Louis vaguely recognized the stone as marble. Inscribed in pretty cursive (though Harry's could have topped it any day) was his precious boy's name, date of birth, and date of . . .  
Well, death.

Harry Edward Styles  
February 2, 1994 to December 24, 2013  
Harry was an angel to many, and may his memory live on, shining like the star he was, and always will be.

And, before you ask, yes, Harry killed himself on Louis's birthday.  
His 22nd birthday.  
He never got the chance to sing, “I'm feeling 22.” to Harry.  
He only got the chance to sob.

It was hard  
(so fucking hard)  
to wrap his mind around the fact that Harry was gone.

It had happened so easily, too. Louis came home the night of his birthday, expecting to see Harry laid out for him, pretty and flushed, just waiting,  
(they had planned so much for the night; Louis had been so happy and excited when he walked through the door)  
but that isn't what he found.

Harry was laid out, but,  
his cheeks weren't a lovely pink  
his pale skin, swirled with the most fitting ink hadn't been on full display  
his curls hadn't been sticking to his forehead  
his nose hadn't been scrunched up with concentration  
his eyes hadn't been dark with want  
he wasn't dripping with need  
he hadn't been buried deep in himself  
he hadn't been whimpering Louis's name,  
no.  
none of that.

He was on the bed,  
Louis had been expecting that,  
but really,  
he hadn't.

He was still pretty – he was always pretty. Gorgeous. Even when he  
(was dead with no chance of being saved).

“What have I done wrong, Harry?” Louis had whimpered out, sinking to his knees.  
Boy, he thought he'd get to sink to his knees for a whole different reason but,  
well.

Harry was dead, so. 

his cheeks were colorless  
his skin, still will such perfect designs, was almost gray  
his curls were splayed across a pillow  
his nose wasn't twitching like it would when he was asleep  
his eyes had been shut  
he was still  
so fucking still  
and quiet.

The silence is what hurt the most, Louis thought at first.

But,   
no,  
it   
was  
that   
goddamn  
letter.

'Louis,  
I can't believe I'm doing this to you on your birthday. I know we were supposed to be doing – activities, I guess, but I couldn't. I bet you're wondering why I did this (bet you're dying to know, haha).

Louis hadn't found that funny.

So, I guess I should tell you. I'm really sad. And, it's not your fault or anything. In fact, you make me happy. You always have, but, it's when your away . . . I don't know. I don't want to be dependent on you for my happiness. And I feel like you should be with someone who is happy all the time. I don't think this makes much sense. I'm pretty sure the pills are taking affect. It's all a blur. I love you, Lou.  
-Harry'

The letter was short.  
Too short.  
The handwriting had gotten messier as it went on.  
Louis,  
poor Louis,   
wanted Harry to open his fucking eyes,  
but Harry,  
sweet Harry,  
would never open them again.

The ambulance came after Louis called them in a blur  
(frantically, panicky, but it was too late. Far too late.)  
and took Harry away,   
but,  
it was no use.

He was gone.

And Louis?

Louis cried  
and cried  
and cried  
and cried  
and cried  
until  
his eyes were dry,  
but he still sobbed.

It was February when he sat at Harry's grave-site,  
February 2nd, to be exact,  
thinking back to that day,  
when he could have fucked Harry into oblivion,  
like they had planned,  
but,  
he wasn't a sick man,  
not sick enough,  
to fuck someone who wasn't alive.  
Louis stayed quiet for hours,  
fingers endlessly tracing the words that had been so carefully etched in,  
letting himself cry some more.

It hurt,  
his eyes,  
they were so fucking dry.  
It hurt.

Then, he spoke, and it was so . . .  
(so, not right).

“You bastard.” he had whispered. “I love you so fucking much, but you left me. You're selfish, Harry. We could have worked through your sadness. I wanted you to be happy. I want you. But you're gone. Please come back.”

The last sentence came out wavering and broken.

 

He stopped talking then,  
just sat in the silence that had enveloped him,  
since he turned 22.

And then he went home.

He didn't bother to write a letter.  
He'd lost contact with everyone else important to him  
(they saw it coming, saw it coming, saw it coming, they saw it)  
So it didn't matter.

Louis wanted to go with grace.  
But,  
he wanted to go.  
So maybe grace wasn't an option.

He cut his veins open,  
let himself bleed out,  
died.

Died like his boy, his precious boy, but different.

But it wasn't right.  
Nothing was.  
Nothing ever would be again.

But, hey, at least Louis had his boy back, right?

(selfish decisions, selfish.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading (:  
> Comments and kudos are appreciated x  
> Sorry it's so depressing.


End file.
